


Telemachies

by Lysimache



Category: The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:28:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysimache/pseuds/Lysimache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no new stories, only new tellers.  (Or: Athena Ballerina!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telemachies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perkyandproud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perkyandproud/gifts).



ALPHA

One more time, eh, old girl? You and me? There may be no new stories, and there may be nothing any more of wonders under that fleet chariot, but surely sometimes the audience changes? A tale is only as fresh as the hearer.

***

BETA

Exterior. A sea strand. Enter one STEPHEN, pacing.

STEPHEN picks up a round sea shell and examines it, running his fingers along each ridge in turn. He is methodical in it. His face is pleasant enough, calm in countenance, but a certain hardness to the eyes belies it.

He takes the seashell and hurls it, full force, as far as it will go, into the sea. There is a pusillanimous 'plomp' as it lands, nearly drowned out by the waves and by the gulls.

He walks a bit further along the strand, then picks up a stick. As with the shell, he examines it at length. He appears to hesitate, arm raised and back, eyes fixed on the horizon, and he surely would have thrown, had the wood not been pulled firmly from him.

He does not turn around to regard who is behind him, nor does he utter a sound. What father, what mentor, what six-handed Cyclops, he dare not guess. He reaches back his hand instead, and she hands him back the stick.

He does not hurl it into the sea. He holds fast.

*****

GAMMA

If you're going to get to know me, you better call me Terry. I'll answer to 'T', but not that 'Teresa' shit. A name is a name, but that one's not mine.

I know you're probably wondering what someone like me is doing here. Don't deny it. I can see it in your eyes. "You don't belong here, girl." Well, you got that one right. I sure as hell don't. But considering I don't belong much of anywhere anymore, I figure I might as well be here as anywhere else.

Here's not too bad. Good light, for one thing. Good mirrors. Good teachers. The best.

Especially Minnie. You wouldn't think someone that good would be wasting her life in a shit place like this, teaching starving kids from the hood how to hold an arabesque while the metronome clicks on: _1-and-2-and-3-and-4-and!_ She could've made it anywhere, with extension like that, and fire like that, and eyes like that. Gray, you'd call them, not blue at all, but cold like steel.

She showed up one day a few weeks ago, told Miss 'The *Boys*' Class Is Down the Hall' where to shove it, and hasn't let up since. I thought I knew where all my muscles were, thought I was an expert in tired, but man, I literally fell asleep on the subway yesterday, and that's something I'm much too smart to do.

The weirdest part was, when I finally wake up, Minnie's sitting next to me, smiling, kind of. She's got a look on her face like she was really happy to see me, and that's not something I'm used to teachers of any kind doing. My regular teachers, English and math and all that shit, well, they always have a little frown, and like, right in the middle of their sentences they'll just stop, and sigh. No, I didn't do any homework today, either, and we both know it. And my dance teachers, well, mostly they don't understand how you can do ballet without a pink ribbon in your hair, and I had Joey down the street buzz mine off about six months ago. You couldn't clip it with a sparkle clip now if you tried!

Minnie gets it, though. Gets me. She even promised to show me how to do a lift, and isn't *that* a kick in the head.

So anyway, yeah, I fell asleep on the subway, and next thing I know, I wake up and she's sitting there next to me. And it was nice, too, which, okay, you could guess from how much I like her, but it's not just that, I mean, not even mostly that, it was more how she was talking to me, right? She listened, like *really* listened, and I ended up telling her about my mom and that guy who's been camped out on the sofa for a week, eating up all the food in the house -- not that there was all that much to begin with, but that just makes it worse, I guess. And my mom just goes on and on, about how everything will be different when my dad comes back, and I want to just tell her, look, it's not like anyone thinks that's going to happen anymore, not after he's been gone all these years, and besides, it's not like she could even tell for sure that O. was my dad for real in the first place, anyway. But that's not the kind of thing you say, and Minnie's right that if he *was* still around, at least the boyfriend brigade would have to move on.

I'm not even sure how long we rode around, because I was sure we'd gone past my stop a couple of times, but each time I looked out we were still a ways out. (It's a long ride to begin with, out towards the water.) So anyways we keep talking, and I still don't know how she did it, but she convinces me the best thing to do would be to go see _Tío_ Manny and _Tía_ Elena for a while. They're distant relatives of O's so she thinks they might know what's happened to him. I don't know, I can't really imagine them helping much, but it's hard to say no to Minnie.

And then the train was finally at my stop, and honestly, I could've sworn she was about to kiss me. I don't know, I must have been imagining things. But she was just *looking* at me, and yeah, I know, imagining!

Nice, though.

****

DELTA

The end is never the end. The start of one story always follows the end of another. Around we cycle! Evoe!

****

EPSILON

1/18/1995  
Greek 190:677 (Homer and the Homeric Hymns)  
Prof. W.W. Ainsworth

> epic  
> epic cycle (group of epics, Gk. kuklos)
> 
> oral theory
> 
> "apostolic succession" --  
> 
>
>> Milman Parry: South Slavic epics, recordings, originated  
>  oral theory. use of formulae. no real publications.  
>  "mysterious" death -- accident? suicide? loaded gun in a  
>  suitcase went off in a LA hotel;
>> 
>> Alfred Lord: The Singer of Tales (1960), best  
>  statement of oral theory -- no "original" text,  
>  cf. Peisistratean recension, Alexandria
>> 
>> Gregory Nagy: composition-in-performance, Best of the Achaeans

  
_Have you ever noticed that WWA doesn't move his upper lip when he's talking? It's creepy._

Can't say I have.

_He totally doesn't._

If you say so. I did notice he's wearing his grey sweater though.

_The one with the holes in the sleeves? Yes, so he is._

> previous scholarship: analysts vs. unitarians (cf. neoanalysis),  
> Quellenforschung

Also, I can't believe that "I Didn't Get That Far" girl is taking this class with us. Wasn't last semester bad enough?

_I know. But I really love that bag of hers, the Coach one._

> evidence of orality:   
> 
>
>> epithets, traceable to Mycenean (Linear B) -- wanax, 'king'  
>  rhapsodes  
>  multiple versions, scholia

What are scholia?

_No idea. You should've looked that up before class, obvs. Weren't you angry that you didn't know?_

Clearly not enough.

_Are you going to the Italian House party on Friday?_

Don't know.

_It'll be fun!!!_

Maybe. We'll see. I have a lot of work to do...

****

OMEGA

And so Athena of the bright-eyes addressed him in response:  
"Do not take offense at these words, son of Odysseus,  
but rather put aside your anger having been kindled and let yourself  
be amenable to the pleas of your friends and the entreaties of your  
dear mother, richly-dowered Penelope; for your present mind  
is surely productive of no good ends. And even Achilles, son of  
Peleus, laid aside his anger in his tent among the Achaeans   
and he accepted aged Priam and took him by the hand, saying,  
'So too was my father back in Phthia, and I would not look upon  
him thus'; but do you too, O son of godlike Odysseus,  
lay aside your anger and take the right hand of this brother  
late-come and do you accompany him with your queenly mother  
back to his home, to the island Aeaea.  
There take your father's body, that it be entombed  
with all ceremony and many hecatombs of cattle,  
to send rich thigh-bones to the gods,   
and every man may have his share, and be satisfied."

Thus she spoke with winged words, and godlike Telemachus listened,  
taking ship with his queenly mother and the late-come brother  
and having placed the body of his father, much-suffering Odysseus,  
on board, all made fast and sped out across the wine-dark sea.

But Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the Aegis, seeing that the man  
was still much-grieved in his heart, did conceal her form,  
and having taken the shape of a mortal sailor, Menoetius, Actor's son,  
she sat down at the ship's bow beside Telemachus, lord of the people.  
And thus she spoke to him, the lady Pallas Athena,  
saying, "What troubles you so, O son of Odysseus?  
Or why are you nursing a deep-seated pain under your heart?  
For surely you have not seen enough of the sun's courses   
in years yet to have earned such frowns as sit upon your brow.  
Come, speak out all your cares and tell me your mind."

And he answered her then, Telemachus, lord of the people,  
"You bid me speak, and yet you know all of my troubles, dear lady.  
For have I not known you since I was still a boy   
in the wide halls and rich courts of my father?   
No disguise could you adopt sufficient to conceal   
your form more than mortal, nor does Menoetius, Actor's son,  
walk still among the peoples of the Argives,  
but he has gone down to that kingdom whence no man can return  
and where no man can tell you still of any glory his deeds had.  
But still I will speak, since you bid me tell you my mind.  
Much grief have I suffered and many troubles have I seen  
since first he came to the rich people of Ithaka,  
my late-come brother, Telegonus son of godlike Odysseus.  
For brother he is, and no brother, no son of my mother  
and my father's slayer. And yet now the goddess bids me go back  
with him to his home, the island Aeaea,   
accompanied by my queenly mother and the body of my father  
there to entomb him with many rich hecatombs of cattle.  
I have as yet neither stately halls nor lady wife  
to welcome me back with much feasting after I have slain  
many lords of the enemy, shepherds of the people.  
And now I fear lest I never will see children in my house,  
but instead will live out my days on the island Aeaea  
or (may it not be) go down to the floor of the ocean."

And the lady Pallas Athena felt great pity in her heart  
for him, and thus gave him answer,  
"As for your words, I do not dispute them, for clever  
always too was your father, godlike Odysseus.  
But fear not and be glad in your heart, rejoicing,  
for the coming of this brother, Circe's son,  
brings with it for you many joys not yet thought of.  
A son you will have, and too, daughters, who father will name you,  
the lord Latinus, soon to rule in the land of Hesperia.  
Long will be his reign, but longer will be that of his sons,  
lords of men, keeping peace with their scepter   
in the land of the Tuscans, shepherds of the people."

Thus she spoke with winged words and lifted his sad heart,  
and he felt within him much rejoicing to hear her words.  
But then the goddess took flight to her father's kingdom,  
he who rules over the lands far and wide, Zeus Aegis-Bearing.

****

alpha

A return? A departure? If you sail  
far enough,  
by then you will see  
that in sailing around  
you always come back  
to the same port you left  
on the very same day  
son no longer nor father  
but mothers all.  
Round you go.


End file.
